The gimmick in "Intimate Strangers" is that a young woman, Anna Delambre (Sandrine Bonnaire), mistakenly enters the office of a tax consultant, William Faber (Fabrice Luchini), instead of a psychoanalyst, and tells him her most intimate secrets. The question then arises: Did she make an honest mistake, or is the whole thing a setup? Which of the two is the doctor, and which is the patient? Is she telling the truth, or is she a pathological liar? And why does he maintain the illusion instead of calling her bluff?
"Intimate Strangers" works well as a psychological thriller, an elaborate cat-and-mouse game. But it is also a meditation on loneliness and the lengths to which we are willing to go to overcome it ... or not. In other words, do we allow ourselves to be intimate with each other, or do we remain strangers walled in our fortresses of solitude?
Fabrice Luchini's character epitomizes the latter type of person. He leads a solitary and uneventful life, is obsessive-compulsively neat (he uses shoe trees, for heaven's sake), is unable to keep his on-and-off girlfriend happy, and voyeuristically observes the quiet joys and turbulent passions of his neighbors across the way. (Shades of "Rear Window".) Other minor characters exhibit similar tics: his secretary admits to watching rubbish on television while gorging herself on potato chips, and the doorkeeper of the office building spends all her time watching an idiotic soap opera.
Sandrine Bonnaire is, as always, a lovely, delicate vision. She succeeds in conveying the mystery and intrigue of her character, and yet makes Anna wholly believable.
Unfortunately, Fabrice Luchini does not lend the same degree of realism and reality to William. He is too stereotypically anal-retentive and full of hangups, and we never see William as more than two-dimensional. He remains basically the same, unchanged, even by the closing credits. In short, we never get to know him intimately. He begins and ends the film as simply strange.
